


Misery Loves Company

by Lobotomite



Series: Louder Than Love [3]
Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M, mentions of canon csa, mentions of canon self harm, most of this was written after Tuesday's episode so it might not completely fit canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 03:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12312900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lobotomite/pseuds/Lobotomite
Summary: Sometimes you just need to talk to someone who has some distance from the situation. Sometimes you just need to distract yourself. Ross isn't sure which he needs the most when he decides to invite himself to Aaron's, but he knows he'll find one of them.





	Misery Loves Company

He's been taking scrapyard work home with him lately – Adam has taken the brunt of the business on his shoulders for him more than once, so letting Adam ignore the paperwork for a bit right now is the least of what Aaron owes him. That doesn't mean he's enjoying it, though, and he's a lot happier than he normally would be at an unexpected rap on the door.

He's pretty sure it's not Adam or his mum – they'd have let him know they were coming. He's not expecting Ross to push his way past him as soon as the door is opened, though.

"Pete's doin' my bloody head in," Ross grunts by way of (scant) explanation, throwing himself grumpily on the couch as if this isn't the first time he's even been in Aaron's house. Aaron stares at him blankly for a second, not entirely sure what's going on, but... well, he's not about to kick Ross out, is he, so he closes the door.

"Don't be getting any ideas, right, we're not mates, but I thought if there was one person in this god forsaken village that would just let me alone it would be you. So you just keep doing your-" he waves his hand in the direction of Aaron's work spread out on the table, wrinkling his nose as he has a quick look- "Whatever that is, and I'll entertain myself."

"...Right..." He hesitates at the door a second. Ross is already ignoring him, staring at his phone with his brow creased, but Aaron feels obligated to at least put forward a minimal effort into hosting. Not that he was planning on hosting. Not that Ross probably expects him to. Still.

"...You want a can?" He offers tentatively, and Ross pauses, lips pursing in thought.

"Yeah, go on, then," he concedes, as if he was the one doing Aaron a favour. Aaron just rolls his eyes and heads into the kitchen, pulling them both out one and lobbing it underhanded it at Ross when he's close enough to be sure he'll hit his mark – he might be being a gracious host, but it's still _Ross_.

Ross grunts when it lands on him, scrabbling for the can before it falls off the couch and turning a half-hearted glare on Aaron, but there's no scathing remark or protest. He just cracks it open and settles into the couch, attention turned back to his phone.

Aaron hesitates for a short while, wondering if maybe he should say something – ask how Ross is, how he's doing, if he's okay – but he knows that what he'd want right now would be to just not talk about it, so he settles in and gets back to work.

Ross is true to his word, seemingly engrossed in his phone – he's staring intently at it whenever Aaron glances over, anyway, but going from Aaron's own experience he doubts Ross is taking much in. Sometimes he'll hear Ross take in a breath, like he's about to talk, but he always lets it out slowly and stays silent, so Aaron follows his lead and stays quiet, too.

You couldn't call their silence _comfortable –_ there's too much energy there, too much grief in the tight lines of Ross's face, too many platitudes Aaron knows aren't welcome but has to stop himself saying anyway. It is calm, though, quiet, and Aaron can see Ross's shoulders gradually relaxing the longer he sits there.

He manages to get all the way through his work, Ross occasionally getting up to help himself to more of Aaron's beers – a can lands with a thump on his thigh after the second trip, Aaron letting out a startled ' _fuck_ ' and drawing a jagged line through his work, and Ross's snort of laughter at that is the only noise he gets out of him the whole time he's working.

When he's finally done he shoves the papers away from him and stretches, pushing himself up slightly and leaning back so that his back stretches over the couch, arms up above his head as his spine lets out a satisfying pop. He's about to offer to turn the TV on now that he doesn't have to concentrate, maybe start the PlayStation up (and he's not about to go easy on Ross, not if he's got the chance to go against him on the superior system and show him how games are meant to be played) - but when he turns to him Ross's eyes flick up to meet his from where they've been running down his chest and the words die in his throat.

Ross takes in that breath again, but he doesn't use it to say anything – his phone drops to the couch next to him and he's on Aaron, grip tight on his jaw, pressing their mouths together roughly. Aaron considers stopping him – he's grieving, after all. But it's not like Ross doesn't know what he's doing, not like he's going to regret it - he's just looking for some release, and Aaron is happy to give it to him. So he kisses back and lets Ross press him back into the couch.

Ross is moving even faster than usual (that he has a "usual" to compare it to is still beyond strange) and has both of their shirts off in barely any time, hands immediately falling to Aaron's waistband. He thinks he'd have to burn the couch rather than let Liv sit on it if they go any further here, so he gently pulls Ross's hands away and stands up, rolling his eyes at Ross's pissy look.

"Bedroom, come on," he says, starting off towards his room and hoping Ross actually follows him.

He needn't have worried – he barely has time to settle onto the bed before Ross is straddling him, mouths meeting in a rough kiss as he presses close.

Aaron is expecting something a lot like that first time him and Ross had come to any sort of understanding, for it to be an explosion of grief and anger like them trying to punch each others' lights out in a locked garage. And it is charged, Ross like a tightly coiled spring, grip on Aaron tight and bruising, but he's not aggressive. He's not taking it out on him. He clings tight, face buried in Aaron's neck, hot breath panted against his skin as their sweat-slick chests press together, as the rest of their clothes come off and they're grinding skin to skin.

It's a good thing the lube and condoms are within easy reach of where they're laying, because he doesn't relish the idea of prying Ross off him. As it is, Ross lets him stretch himself open but doesn't move off him, kissing his neck and sliding one hand down to press against where Aaron's got his fingers inside himself but letting Aaron do all the work while he rocks gently against his thigh. He lets Aaron roll the condom on, too, letting out a shaky sigh into his neck as Aaron works his hand along his length a few times before settling into a comfortable position and letting Ross press in.

It's not slow and sensuous – Ross is buzzing with energy, hips snapping into him and teeth biting into his shoulder in between kisses, but they're pressed too close together for it to be rough, Ross's body weight heavy and hot pinning him down into the mattress. He wonders idly who he's replacing right now; whether Ross wishes it was Debbie he was rocking into, Debbie's neck his head was tucked against: or whether it was Donna's hands he wishes were carding through his hair, her thighs tight around his hips. Or maybe this is all he wants right now, someone to touch and lose himself in, and he doesn't care who it is as long as they're willing.

It doesn't matter to Aaron, really. What matters right now is the pleasure building up in his belly, toes curling and fingers tightening in Ross's hair as they careen towards the edge. He finally squirms around and manages to get his hand in between them and around himself, Ross pushing himself up and off him for the first time when he realises what Aaron's doing. He doesn't go far, still hovering over Aaron with their faces so close that his features are just a blur, but it's enough room to jack himself off properly, and he makes full use of that, working himself up to the edge.

He's relieved when Ross gets there first, pressing flush against him and groaning, and pushes himself over with a choked off gasp, thighs curling tense around Ross and then going slack. The condom is tied off and chucked on the ground (Aaron sighs, annoyed, but he can't be bothered dealing with it himself). When Ross falls back onto him and tucks himself against him again Aaron is prepared to let him cuddle up for as long as he wants, but this time he's only there for a little while before he rolls off, sprawling out on his back and slinging an arm across his face.

They lay there in silence, catching their breaths and then just resting, before Ross clears his throat and speaks up in a shaky voice.

"Do you think he was happy?"

Aaron swallows, air heavy as he finds the words, but Ross is talking again before he has the chance to reply.

"I thought he was. But I – I thought my dad was suicidal, I thought mum was _grieving_ instead of, of scared of people realising she was a _psychopath_ , so I'm not. It turns out I don't know shit," he finishes, voice wobbling and fingers curled into fists, jaw clenched.

"Yes. Yeah, I do think he was happy, Ross." He doesn't turn to look at Ross, brow furrowing as he stares up at the ceiling instead and tries to find the right words. "He was... He had Adam and Vic's relationship to meddle in, he had his friends - he had _you_." Him and Finn might not have been the best of friends, but he liked the bloke, they got on, and he definitely knew him well enough to know that his family was everything to him, and Ross the most important of them all. "He had you and Pete on good terms again, Ross, you know he loved that."

Ross makes a noise that sounds like it's trying to be a laugh. "Yeah... yeah, he always was a right sap," he says, and Aaron pretends not to hear the tears in his voice. The next silence is shorter, before Ross speaks up again.

"You must have been made up when your dad died," he says, voice flat, and Aaron's heart stutters in his chest. He considers not replying – he knows Ross wouldn't push. But it might be... not nice, never nice, but cathartic, to talk to someone who gets, in a sense, where he's coming from. Adam does his best, and Aaron wouldn't have gotten through things without him, but however much Aaron tells him about it, he'll never know what it's like to hate and fear a parent.

Him and Ross don't get on brilliantly, most of the time, and they're both too volatile and different to be proper friends. But sometimes they understand each other in a way Aaron rarely gets with anyone else.

"I thought I would be," he answers eventually. "I used to... used to think about it, before everything came out. Think about how relieved I'd feel. How happy. But... but when it happened, I didn't feel much of anything. It was just... everything had still happened. He was gone, but everything I.. I felt about it, it didn't stop. Nothing changed, really. He was just... gone. That was the only difference." He's closed his eyes, the conversation easier to have when he doesn't have to look at anyone, and he doesn't think Ross has moved either. He listens to Ross's breathing, deliberately steady, until he speaks again.

"And... and later?"

Articulating his thoughts has never been someone Aaron has been very good at, and he's even worse at articulating his feelings, so it takes him a few minutes to respond.

"...A lot of things. I mean... Yeah, I was happy. I was really happy. But I was - I was sad, too." He pauses to clear his throat. "He was... I hated him, but, he was still my dad, you know. He still - he did good things, as well. What he did... it didn't make me forget what he could be. And... I felt guilty, too." He lets out a humourless laugh, hearing Ross shift beside him but keeping his eyes firmly closed. "Guilty about everything. I felt guilty for hating him, for being glad he's dead, I felt guilty for being _upset_ he was dead, I felt guilty for not being happy enough.... I just didn't know what to feel. I still don't," he finishes quietly.

"I hate her," Ross says, voice hoarse. "I fucking – I hate her more than I thought I was capable of. She t- she took Finn," he chokes out. "She took my dad. She watched Finn falling apart after dad died, and she just-- just let him think he'd killed himself. I _hate_ her. But I- I still-" He cuts off with a deep, wet breath, then forces out the rest. "I still miss her, though."

"Of course you do," Aaron says, finally turning his head and meeting Ross's wet eyes. "She was your mum, Ross, of course you loved her. Of course you miss her."

"Never really a good one, though, was she," he says with a tilt of his mouth. "It's not just on her, though, is it. We knew what she was like. We should have _noticed_ , we shouldn't've just _believed her_ while she lied right to our faces, I just- god, I thought she was better, how fucking dumb am I?" Tears are dripping down his face now, and his exhaustion is even more obvious than it has been, eyes ringed with dark circles. Aaron has to blink back tears of his own before replying.

"People like that are good at pretending, Ross. And we – people want things to be okay. They want them to be normal. They want them to be telling the truth. Even when- even with my. With Gordon. He'd pretend everything was normal and I'd let myself believe him, believe that he wasn't going to do it again - believe we could just be a normal family. Just because it was never true, that didn't stop me falling for it."

Ross sighs. "Yeah." Aaron can tell he's not entirely convinced, but Aaron didn't expect him to be. He knows what it's like, looking back and scrutinising every action you've made to see where you could have changed things. Letting it go takes time.

"How... how did you deal with it?" Ross asks, voice weak and startlingly fragile. The phantom sting of blades prickle at his chest, and he swallows the impulse down.

"...I've got a bottle of vodka in the kitchen," he offers, drawing a surprised snort of laughter from Ross. He'd been keeping it in case Adam needed a bit of a blow out to let off some steam, but he could always replace it.

"Booze? No lectures on the importance of friends and family?"

Aaron shrugs.

"Of course you'll need them. They're what'll get you through, in the long run. But sometimes you don't want to think about the long run. Sometimes it's just tonight you need to get through."

"True enough," Ross mutters. "Yeah, go on, then." He rubs at his face and stretches, lean chest on display, and then swings his legs around and gets up off the bed. "Let's get plastered."


End file.
